Wrongs Never Make a Right
by ZeldaDragon
Summary: Angela slammed her hands against the steering wheel. She was doing the right thing. She was. Then why were her thoughts giving her such grief?


**This came after a conversation with Dardreamer731. She said – and I quote – "I just noticed something…in the confession scene, Angela says it's been two weeks since her last confession. When they (Constantine and Angela) are talking about Isabel, she says two weeks since she was committed. That means her last confession before the one in the movie was the day Isabel was committed."**

**After a few minutes of doubt, I decided to write about that. And so this oneshot was born. My second completed fic for Constantine. Go me. Points to anyone who can catch any recognizable names.**

**Major thanks to DayDreamer for giving me the inspiration. So, as it should be, I dedicate this to you. **

**xxxxx**

**Wrongs Never Make a Right**

**xxxxx**

"Angie, no…please don't make me go back!"

Her sister's cries echoed down the hall, making Angela's heart constrict. "It's all right, Isabel, you'll be fine."

"No!" She refused to hear. "No! They'll kill me, Angie, they'll _kill_ me! You can't leave me here again!"

"Come along, dear, we'll get you settled into your room." A large nurse came through the crowd gathering in the waiting room of the mental ward. The name on the tag attached to her collar read 'Ratched.' Feeling the imminent evil Isabel jerked away, her eyes wide with horror. The woman gripped her arms, stopping her movement with a violent tug. "Miss _Dodson_, you are perfectly safe here!"

"It's gonna be okay, Isabel," Angela soothed as her twin was lead down the corridor.

"Angie!" The young woman struggled against the nurse, trying in vain to escape. "Angela! Please!"

"Ma'am?" A young orderly came up at her side. "I need you to fill out some paperwork."

"Angie! Angie, help me!" Her voice was hoarse now, but she kept at it. "Please, _please_ help me! I'm going to die! You have to protect me! Angie!"

Tears pricked at Angela's eyes. She just couldn't do it any longer. Couldn't deal with her sister going on about demons and Hell. Isabel was in pain, yet she refused help. It made no sense. Force was the only way to get her to accept it. And yet…it seemed wrong. A door slammed shut, muffling the screams.

"Ma'am? Miss Dodson?" Angela was snapped back to the now as he gently nudged her arm with the clipboard and tapped the paper with an attached pen. "Fill these out?"

She took the clipboard and slouched into a chair near the door, feeling guilt twisting her stomach into knots.

The air was strangely chilly as she left the hospital. Angela walked in a daze to her car, not noticing as a man shoved past her on his way to the entrance. _This is wrong,_ her subconscious whispered. _You know your sister is right. You're never going to see her again. You are making a mistake. Get back in there and bring her home!_

"Shut _up_!" she muttered under her breath, realizing for the first time that her car was locked and she couldn't open the door. She fished in the pocket of her jacket, not really trying to find her keys but knowing that she had to. Her heart was pounding in her chest, still upset over what she just did.

Isabel was her sister. _Sister_. They were supposed to take care of each other, not eschew the other by sending her off to some hospital. Would Isabel have done the same thing if it were Angela who saw things, had the hallucinations? No. Isabel would have stood by her, supported her.

Angela slammed her hands against the steering wheel. She was doing the right thing. She _was_. Then why were her thoughts giving her such grief? She let out a shaky breath and leaned her forehead against the backs of her hands. Even the parking lot was depressing and she wanted desperately to leave…but where could she go?

xxxxx

Angela jerked the curtain closed behind her and dropped to her knees, feeling the pain from the decent sear up her legs for the slightest moment. She stared at the paneling in front of her, faking interest in the interweaving metal of the grate.

"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned," she said brokenly. "I checked Isabel into the psychiatric ward of Ravenscar this morning, against her will." Her jaw clenched as another sob threatened to break out. "She was crying, Father… I don't know if I made the right decision."

"You did what was best for her, sweet," the priest replied, voice brimmed with compassion. "She needs help that she cannot get from you alone. I know it's hard, but it had to be done. She must be cleansed."

"I know, Father." Angela sniffed and squeezed her eyes shut. "But if this is the right thing to do, why am I so upset about my decision?"

"_Any_ decision concerning the family can be difficult. Sometimes, though, you must see through the pain and realize that this is for the best. Isabel's soul will be saved because of what you are doing now to help her."

xxxxx

Rain was just starting to fall as Angela pulled into the parking lot of her apartment building. She felt no desire to get out of the car, no desire to go upstairs. The priest's words had done nothing to calm her frazzled nerves. She felt awful for what she did, and there was no way around that. But still…she couldn't help Isabel by herself. She just couldn't.

Isabel had always put up a fight about being committed, but she had never been so violent about it. The past few weeks had been horrible. There had been night terrors, screaming and fits. She had refused to leave the safety of the bed in Angela's guest room. Refused to eat. Just curled in a ball, muttering to herself, sometimes crying out in pain. It was frightening to see.

Isabel was sick. She always had been. When their parents had died… They only had each other left. Angela had her home, her job. And she had her sister…and all of her sister's baggage. Isabel only had her hallucinations, and Angela to latch onto. And latch they did. The twins were always close; they had never spent more that one night apart as children. So Angela welcomed her sister into her life, just as she had in the past.

The woman sighed, finally turning off the ignition and feeling the vibrations cease as the engine stopped. She was doing the right thing. Angela took a deep breath and opened the car door, ignoring the rain wetting the top of her head.

"Lady, hey lady!" A young man jogged up to her, a bowler cap askew atop a mass of dirty blonde hair. He looked quite out of place. "You have to help me!"

"What?" She looked at him, glancing over his shoulder and seeing nothing but the sparse trees across the way. "What are you talking about? Who are you?"

"My – my name is Collin…" He shook his head, thrown by the questions. "Please, lady, it's my friend…I think someone stabbed her!"

"Where is she, Collin?" Angela asked, habitually reaching for her gun as she followed him across the lot.

"An alley across the street!" he called over his shoulder as he dodged traffic and disappeared between two buildings.

She darted into the alley and looked frantically for the blonde. He was gone. Just…gone. Before she even had a chance to contemplate that fact, a soft moan caught her attention. A small girl was huddled by a Dumpster, soaking wet with rain and blood. The water around her was red, and five long gashes were visible across her midsection.

Angela rushed forward and sank to her knees, reaching out and pressing her fingers to the child's neck. The pulse was fait, but still there. She hastily removed her jacket and laid it over the trembling form, studying the wounds as she did so. She had never seen anything like it before. It was as though some…some _thing_ with claws had tried to gouge the poor girl's stomach out. But how…what…?

Moments later, she jumped up and grabbed her cell phone to call for help.

"This is Detective Dodson, in need of assistance. Send an ambulance immediately…"

xxxxx

"Doctors say Ruthie's gonna be fine. You found her just in time." Weiss said over the phone later than night. "You did the right thing today, Angie. Sleep well."

Angela sighed dejectedly and placed the phone back on it's cradle, refusing to see the irony in what her colleague had just said. She leaned heavily against the open window and stared out over the city. She could see the steeple of her church rising majestically in the distance, and the sight only made her chest tighter.

"Oh, Isabel…"

In her mind, she could still hear the screams, still see her sister's horrified face. Then she saw that little girl, mauled by some unknown animal. What an awful day. Tears leaked from her eyes, wetting her cheeks, yet she didn't wipe them away. Those tears were a reminder of the very human emotions she was feeling. She wanted them there.

Moist night air blew through the city, bringing with it the smell of wet pavement and vehicle exhaust. The real LA. _Some City of Angels_, she thought sarcastically. _Filled with insanity and crime. What a combination._

"God," Angela said quietly, glancing up at the hazy sky, "I hope it isn't too much of me to ask, but would you please watch Ruthie? And, I guess, since you'll be at the hospital anyway…could you watch Isabel? You are the only one she trusts, God. You are the only one who can really keep her safe." Her voice seemed to fade into nothingness and she felt all her hope following.

She shook her head, blinking back a fresh wave of tears, and leaned back from the window. But before she could slide the pane shut, something soft landed beside he on the sill. Her eyebrows furrowed as she picked it up. A feather. A long silky, cream-colored feather. It was the same color as that young man's hair. The young man that had disappeared. She ran her fingers down the length and sighed, shutting the window and blocking the noise of traffic below.

After a quick glance around the room, Angela placed the feather gently on her desk and went to get ready for bed.


End file.
